


Snitches Get Stitches

by Nejinee



Series: These Streets 'verse [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Anal Sex, Arguing, Beefy Bucky, Blow Jobs, Cop Steve, Drama & Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Police Officer Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Bucky's got problems. He's got anger issues, nosy goddamn friends and a friggin' cop with a smart mouth taking up his thoughts. Then things get worse and he realizes he can't do shit about any of those things anyway.





	Snitches Get Stitches

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Snitches Get Stitches 告密者死](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771633) by [carolchang829](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolchang829/pseuds/carolchang829)



> Part 5 is here. If you're new, maybe try starting [from the beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/series/781374).

“You sure pistachio wasn’t a better idea?”

Bucky looked up from where he was crouched, pouring fresh paint from the can into his rolling pan. America didn’t look at him, she just kept slowly cutting in with her paintbrush, up on the ladder.

“You asking now?” he murmured in response.

She shrugged. “I dunno. This grey-blue’s alright, just wondering if the green one woulda been better.”

“Don’t say that to him,” Kate huffed loudly, entering the room with a tray of drinks. She set the tray down on a plastic crate. “Tea and coffee,” she said. Bucky noted that the ‘tray’ was an old photo frame she musta dug out of his unwanted trash pile. These kids, honestly.

“Why not tell him?” America said, turning from her perch, paintbrush aloft. “I’m just asking.”

Kate sighed, “Because, you can’t offer changes after we’ve painted half the house. Besides, look what you did,” here she waved a hand at Bucky.

America blinked at him. Whatever she saw on his face made her mouth a prudent line.

Bucky was scowling. “You think we shoulda gone green?”

“Uh, no, no,” America said, carefully clambering down the tall ladder. “I was just, uh, considering it. You know how it goes…”

Kate held up a cup of coffee to Bucky. “Here, ignore her. Drink up.”

He took the mug and watched the two girls flit about, putting their painting supplies aside so they could sit down on the floor cross-legged amongst the sheet plastic and miscellaneous supplies.

Bucky looked the room over. America was getting much better at cutting in, which made his life easier. They’d be done by the end of the day, probably. The refinished ceiling and walls were looking good. It made him feel accomplished, things like this. But pistachio green? Really? Maybe…

Kate and America were giggling and sipping at their drinks like they were at camp, or some shit. Bucky eyed them over the rim of his mug. They were cute. They made a good duo, couple, whatever. He was still unsure what he thought of them. Probably should have paid better attention in the beginning. He still wasn’t sure if they’d been together the whole time, or if this was something new he’d overlooked.

Teddy Altman appeared from the hallway, white paint stuck in his blonde hair. “I smell coffee,” he said.

His other half appeared not far behind. Hiring these kids to help had been a smart choice. They’d got shitloads done in only a few weeks and before the dead of winter really set in. February was a brutal month for hauling lumber and supplies.

They only had the painting in this room and a few touch-ups to go before Bucky could say it was all done.

“Hey, don’t track paint in here,” Kate said loudly.

Billy Kaplan looked down at his boots that had seen better days. There was a white boot-shaped print on the wood behind him. He immediately looked up at Bucky. 

Ah, yes, the familiar look of fear.

Bucky missed it sometimes.

“I’ll, I’ll wipe it up,” Billy squeaked weakly, gently toeing off his boots. “Sorry.”

Bucky sipped his coffee, making sure his brow was a hard line over his eyes. It really added to the effect.

 

* * *

  


“I could have done this myself,” Clint huffed, hauling bags of soil into his already overstuffed and manky garage.

“I know,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “But you’d have taken too long and the frost is setting in. I don’t want this shit frozen solid.”

“It’s still gonna freeze,” Clint dumped a bag on the pile.

Bucky dropped two more. He wiped at his hands and surveyed the twenty or so bags piled up. “Good discount though,” he murmured. He smiled at Natasha, “You got sharp eyes.”

She shrugged, “Hey, you spot a deal like this, you go for it.”

“Even if you can’t lay the gardens until May?” Clint asked.

“Patience, my little locust,” Natasha went over to him and pecked him on the nose. “I’d rather wait a few months than pay full price for bags of dirt.”

Bucky watched the two of them.

Clint rubbed at his jaw and griped.

“Why’d I have to be a _locust_ though?”

 

* * *

  


“Hey, Barnes.”

Bucky looked up from his jam sandwich. Delaney approached, new work order in his hands. “You any good with cycles?”

Bucky frowned, still chewing slowly.

“We got a request to fix up an old Harley,” Delaney scratched at his grey stubble on his chin, “But Marco’s still in New Orleans with his girl. He’s our bike guy, you know?”

Bucky swallowed and put his sandwich down.

He held out his hand, “Lemme see the make.”

Delaney handed over the order. 

Bucky read over the details of the request. It was a lot of work. He looked up at his boss, “And customer’s willing to foot the bill for all this?”

Delaney chuckled, “Yep. I think he’s just playing nice with me. Trying to get back into my good books.”

Bucky wanted to finish eating. He barely got ten minutes a day to just sit quietly by himself. “I’m okay with bikes. I’d have to see it.”

Delaney sighed, “Well, it’s the best we can do anyway,” he said, taking the sheets back. “I’ll have him bring her in tomorrow morning. Early. You can do early?”

Bucky just grunted in response, already leaning in for a fresh bite.

 

* * *

  


“Really?” Bucky glared in the very, _very_ early morning sunshine. “ _Really?”_

“Hey, a little respect, Barnes. He’s a paying customer,” Delaney smacked Bucky on the back with his broad palm none too gently. “Ain’tcha officer Rogers?”

Steve fuckin’ Rogers smiled that awkward smile of his. In his stupid cop uniform. With the dumb hat and the ridiculous sheepskin collar on his police jacket.

“Well, thanks for opening up so I could drop it off before my shift,” Rogers murmured. “Uh, I guess if you could give me an idea of what needs fixing, maybe a final quote?”

“Sure, sure,” Delaney nodded in that voice that made Bucky take a mental note to double-check the finances on this one. “I’ll send that over after lunch.”

“Cool,” Rogers nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at Bucky and Bucky could _see_ it in those eyes. He could see the blatant _whatever it was_ that just …

“Get over here, _Officer,_ ” Bucky grabbed Rogers’ elbow, and pushed him.

“Hey,” Rogers grunted as Bucky pulled him back out into the biting cold where the new sunlight was casting a yellow glow over the blue-grey tones of a winter’s day.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky bit out, a good fifteen feet into the parking lot. He could see Rogers’ pal, coworker, or whatever, hanging out by the truck with the motorcycle on it. The blonde kid with the curls.

“What?” Rogers blurted. He pulled his elbow free.

“Since when do you have a _motorcycle?_ ” Bucky bit out. 

“Since a week ago when I bought it at a damn police auction, _Barnes,_ ” Rogers looked pretty peeved all of a sudden. Okay, then.

“So what, you just ‘happen’ to find a bike in need of repair and now you bring it here so I have to tinker on it?”

Rogers stared at him, “What the hell? Bucky, I just wanted to get it restored. I figured Delaney was the best shop in town.”

“The shop _I_ happen to work at?” Bucky crossed his arms tight across his chest.

Rogers’ mouth was tight, “It’s not about you.”

“Isn’t it?” Bucky huffed.

Movement out of the corner of his eye had him look over. Delaney was helping to hoist the bike off the back of the truck. It was a really rusted out thing. Old, too.

“Jesus, I don’t have to bring it here,” Rogers gritted his teeth. “And you don’t have to fucking work on it.”

“You can’t just show up here and expect–“ Bucky cut himself off, realizing he didn’t have an end to that sentence.

“Expect what?” Rogers said. “I don’t _expect_ anything. I just came to get my bike fixed.”

They glared at one another.

“I can take my business elsewhere,” Rogers said sharply, standing up, chin raised.

Bucky chewed on his lip, glancing at Delaney again. He looked at Rogers.

“You can’t now, not now my boss thinks you’re in for good cash.”

“Well fuck me, then,” Rogers threw up his hands, eyes wide, angry. “I can’t fuckin’ please anyone anyway.” He tugged at the brim of his police hat and pushed past Bucky, back to his colleague and fellow officer.

“Come on, Danny,” Bucky heard him utter. “Mr. Delaney’s crew’s got it under control.”

“We do indeed,” Delaney smiled wide, stepping back so Steve could head round to the passenger side of the truck. “I’ll have that quote to you soon, Officer.”

The kid, Danny, just nodded and got into the driver’s side, while Delaney waved Bucky over to help with the bike.

The two of them pushed it into the wide open shop doors and over to one of the few open spots left for maintenance.

“Dangit, he wasn’t kidding about the age on this thing,” Delaney harped on. “’S gonna be a lotta work, Barnes.”

Bucky shrugged, ignoring the truck hightailing it out of the lot. The bike really was a wreck. He circled it slowly, still angry.

“You, uh, still got beef with the cops?” Delaney said. It wasn’t uncommon for him to keep an eye out on his ex-cons.

Bucky glanced up, “What?”

Delaney shrugged his wide shoulders, “That didn’t look too friendly. Unless in your eyes that was totally run-of-the-mill type shit.”

Bucky sighed through his nose. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Yeah, right,” Delaney shook his head. “You better not be pissing that one off, Barnes. He’s like a dog with a bone. Don’t start it or he’ll finish it.”

“I said I’m not–“

“Don’t mess up with the damn cops.” Delaney’s face was tight. “I can only cover you when you ain’t bein’ stupid. You get yourself into trouble, piss him off, you got the whole force on your back.”

Bucky glared at him. Did the old guy think he was _stupid?_ “There ain’t no issue,” he grumbled.

Delaney eyed him, squinted, and shook his head. “It’s your head, not mine, boy.”

Bucky watched his boss saunter off.

He then stared at the bike sitting before him.

“The hell am I gonna do with this thing?” he grumbled to himself.

 

* * *

  


“Don’t tell me this shit, Lang, how many times I gotta say that?” Clint griped in the darkness.

Bucky took a drag of his smoke, sitting on the bed of Clint’s truck. It was fucking freezing and all three of them were out on the driveway because Scott was freaking out _again._

“Okay, no, look,” Scott put his hands up. “I know it sounds bad.”

“Yeah it sounds bad,” Clint hissed. “Anyone finds out you were in that house, you’re a dead man.”

“I got out,” Scott rolled his eyes. “This ain’t my first rodeo guys. Luis was there and all.”

“Not a vote of confidence,” Bucky said gruffly, wishing he could wear his gloves. There was definitely gonna be some heavy snowfall later that night. Another reason to quit smoking, really.

“Luis is great!” Scott cried. “He’s got my back.”

“Oh yeah, so why you calling us out late like this? You break into a rich dude’s house and get nothing, and now what?”

“Well…” Scott rubbed at his neck. “Y’see, I kinda bumped into someone. After.”

“After? Where?” Bucky frowned, wishing he didn’t have to _still_ be dealing with this shit ten years down the line.

“I was at that bar on Gentry–“

“The Rose and Crown?” Clint added.

“Yeah, yeah, that one,” Scott nodded. “And this woman, this, this _beautiful_ woman, this _queen_ among women came up and totally started flirting with me. Me!”

Both Bucky and Clint looked at one another.

“Okay…” Clint said.

“Look, you guys be judging,” Scott huffed loudly, “But it was like, destiny. She’s super smart and really cool, and kick-ass and…uh,well–“

“Oh, God, _what_?” Clint asked.

Scott cleared his throat, “She, uh, her dad kinda owns the house.”

“The house? What house?” Bucky frowned, confused.

“The one … I uh,” Scott said slowly.

“The one you fuckin’ robbed,” Clint said bluntly, crossing his arms.

“Excuse you,” Scott pouted, “ _Attempted_ burglary. I didn’t steal a thing.”

Bucky stared at Scott. “So…you…what?”

Scott chewed his lip, “I wanna call her, ask her out.”

“Are you fucking _nuts?_ ” Clint barked. “What if they’re looking for you!”

“They aren’t!” Scott wailed, “I think.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. “You got me out in the freezing cold for this shit.”

“I need help, though! Do I ask her out? Do I tell her–“

“No!” Both Bucky and Clint barked.

“You shut your yap, leave her alone, and never go into that fucking neighbourhood again, you bozo,” Clint said in a hushed hiss.

“But she’s so beautiful…” Scott almost whimpered pitifully.

“Dude,” Bucky dropped his cigarette, scooted off the truck bed, and smudged it out with the tip of his boot. “You can’t. She’s way too close to the issue. And if this was a few days ago, the cops could still be searching for you.”

“I didn’t trip any alarms,” Scott said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky said, “If the cops have any fucking inkling it was you, and they put you and her together? You’re fucked. You remember your record? The criminal one?”

Scott frowned and rubbed at his eyes. He sighed. Then he looked at Bucky, brows furrowed.

“You could find out, couldn’t you?”

Bucky squinted, “Huh?”

“You could ask the cop. Whatsisname?”

“Rogers?” Clint frowned to match Bucky. “What?”

Scott waved his hand about, “Well, ain’t you, like in his good books or whatever? He’s hardly as nasty to you as he is to me.”

“That’s ‘cos Barnes ain’t been busted three times in the last year,” Clint said drily. “You, however, walk around with a damn beacon on your head, asking for trouble.”

Bucky folded his arms over his chest and stared Scott down.

Scott flailed a little, “No, I know that,” he said, “But, I mean, he’s all friendly with you. Can’t you sneak some info on the burglary? Maybe he’ll tell you shit.”

“Are you insane?” Bucky said, his hackles rising. He didn’t like the turn in the topic. Not one bit. “Cops don’t trust me with shit.”

“No, but Rogers might?” Scott winced even as he said it.

“You think Rogers and I are buddy-buddy pals or somethin’?” Bucky asked gravely, darkly. Inside, his stomach clenched tight.

“No,” Scott huffed, “But maybe–“

“He might not even be working that case,” Clint said androlled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

Scott deflated.

“Look,” Clint clapped him on the shoulder, “You keep your head down and stay out of the way, okay? Don’t tell anyone anything. And for the love of Christ, stop breaking into places!”

“Mleh!” Scott made a face. He was obviously disappointed with their answers.

“And don’t call that woman,” Bucky added, which made Scott scowl for real. “I know that’s the whole thing here. But don’t. You got it?”

Scott muttered under his breath, but he did nod.

“Good lad,” Clint said.

 

* * *

  


“He’s totally gonna call her,” Clint said the next morning.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, sipping at his hot coffee outside on his porch.

“Fuck,” Clint muttered.

 

* * *

  


The stupid fucking motorcycle was a mess. Bucky’d ordered in new parts from all over God’s green earth. The shiny parts looked so bizarre on the paint-chipped old thing.

“You still stripping the pieces?” Wade asked, leaning over Bucky while he worked. The guy was young and so friggin’ nosy.

Bucky looked up from his flannel with the smaller parts laid out on the concrete floor. “Yeah,” he grunted.

“Huh,” Wade said, “You got a lot done.”

Yeah, okay, he _had_ , but bikes still weren’t his specialty. Bucky had done a damn lot of googling, even looking up old handbooks for Rogers’ stupidly old model.

“When’s Marco coming back?” he grumbled.

Wade made annoying clicking sounds with his tongue. “Dunno. Week, maybe?”

“Ugh,” Bucky grunted, bending over the tedious job at hand.

 

* * *

  


“So Mr. Shaw said he was impressed,” America said, rustling the bags in her hands.

Bucky flashed his card to the cashier and eyed the shopping they’d just done. “Oh yeah?” he murmured, turning the keypad closer so as to type in his pin.

“Yeah,” America went on. “I’m kinda the only girl in shop class, so he’s extra weird with me, but I don’t care.”

The cashier smiled at Bucky and he took the receipt with a nod.

“You need help?” he asked America, who just shook her head. Her curls were bursting out from the bottom of her wool hat and her winter coat made that _swish-swish_ sound every time she moved.

“I got it,” she said. 

Bucky walked with her out of the hardware depot, listening to her go on about her first woodworking project.

“Mr. Shaw says he’s surprised I know so much about working a bandsaw,” she said. “You think that’s ‘cos I’m a girl?”

Bucky smirked, “Probably.”

“Huh,” she said, loping along beside him. Goddamn, it was _cold;_ He shoulda worn a hat too. His hoody and jacket combo was only _just_ staving off the biting chill. He jammed his hands in his pockets.

“You think men will ever be okay with chicks doing everything as good as them?” America asked.

Bucky pondered that. “I dunno, kid,” he shrugged. “I wish, but your best bet right now is to stick to the ones who get it, and kick the rest of ‘em in the nuts.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “I dunno. Do I wanna kick Mr Shaw in the nuts? Not yet, maybe. Oh, hey, look!”

Bucky looked up.

_Ah, hell._

“Mr Barnes,” police officer Wilson smiled at him. And damnit, Rogers was coming up behind the guy.

“Hi, officers,” America said. “What’s doin’?”

Wilson smiled, “Not much. Just the man we were looking for, though.”

“Really?” America frowned, “At the _hardware_ store? You couldn’t find him when he got home, to his _house?_ ” Her cynicism shone through so bright it almost made Bucky smile.

Wilson nodded, “Yeah, well, we just have a couple, uh, pieces of info for Mr Barnes here. D’you mind waiting over there?”

America scowled and Bucky could just see her setting her feet, and refusing to move.

“It’s all right,” he sighed, “She can stay. What?”

Rogers was there now, eyes all pale in the sunshine. He had his stupid winter hat on again and his police winter boots. Taxpaying dollarshard at work.

Bucky refused to acknowledge how long Rogers’ legs looked in those stupid pants, or how the sheepskin earflaps framed his face.

“Hey,” Rogers nodded.

Bucky just grunted.

“Okay, look,” Wilson sighed, “We just wanted to alert you to some new information coming down the pipes. Are you aware of the current status of Wolfgang von Strucker?”

Bucky blinked, his stomach dropping. “What?”

“Who?” America chimed in. “That the composer? He’s dead.”

Rogers tilted his head her way and raised his brows.

“What do I need to know? He’s in super max,” Bucky murmured.

“Currently, no,” Wilson said slowly. He pulled out a folded few sheets of paper from his jacket pocket and opened them up. “At the moment, Strucker is being held at a detainment facility in Jersey, prepping for his readmission into civilian life.”

Bucky blinked. “ _What?_ Are you fucking kidding me?”

America looked between the three men.

“Okay then,” Wilson clucked, “So you were not aware. His release is coming up. Served his time and with good behaviour, lopped two years off his sentence.”

“What the fuck?” Bucky breathed, “You can’t let that guy back out into society.” He glared at Wilson, and when that did nothing, at Rogers.

“He did his time,” Rogers said slowly. 

“He’s a fucking _monster,_ ” Bucky hissed. 

“Okay, look,” Wilson said calmly, hands up. “We came here to let you know. Give you the heads-up.”

“Why?” Bucky growled, “Like you said, he’s ‘served his time’ what’s the harm in letting him out? _Jesus Christ_.”

“Well,” Sam glanced at Steve, “We just got out the old, uh, charges he laid against you.” He glanced at America, who just stared right back.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, folding his arms. “And? What?”

“Well–,” Wilson tried to begin, but Rogers cut in sharply.

“We thought it best to make you aware, in case he shows up.”

“But he served his time, _officer,”_ Bucky spat. “He’s fine. He’s dandy.”

He saw Rogers’ jaw clench. “Barnes,” he said, voice rough. “We’re taking this seriously, okay? You’re the one that pointed law enforcement his way. You’re the one person he’d have a reason to come looking for.”

“Yeah, only it was five years _after_ the fact, wasn’t it? Fucking police force, my ass,” Bucky bit out, looking between the two men. “Five years after he’s been leching on other innocent girls. Five years until someone thought to fucking investigate. Only then did people fucking get it.”

Rogers’ mouth was a hard line.

“Look,” Wilson said, “Just, be aware, okay? I’m not saying he’s got it out for you. He’s playing it nice and cool for the governor. But if, _if_ you see him. Barnes. You gotta let us know. No vigilante shit.”

“None,” Rogers echoed, voice hard.

“Fine,” Bucky grunted angrily. “Sure. Whatever you want. Can we go now?”

Wilson sighed, but did step back.

Bucky pushed past Rogers, shoulders connecting sharply.

He hustled America along, back over to his dusty blue pickup.

He helped her load the shopping bags into the truck, stern and quiet.

Once inside the cab, he jammed his key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life.

America was silent, watching him.

“Seatbelt,” he muttered, looking over.

She just stared, eyes wide. “Who were they talking about?” she asked.

“Nothing, no one, forget it,” Bucky said roughly.

His went to snap the car into reverse, but America leaned over and yanked the key free. The truck shuddered and coughed its way back into silence.

“Hey,” Bucky said darkly.

America glared at him, key held away from him.

“Are you for real right now?” she asked. “That sounded really scary. Who is this Strucker guy?”

Bucky groaned, “Just, some fuckin’ asshole from my days in juvie.”

“Juvie?” she repeated, “Like, a million years ago?”

“I ain’t ancient,” Bucky leaned over and swiped at her hand, yanking his keys free. “Don’t ever take my shit.”

America scowled. “Hey, if you’re in trouble, you gotta tell Natasha.”

Bucky snorted and pulled his car back to life. He pulled it into reverse, and twisted around so he could see out the back window. “Natasha can fuckin’ stay outta my business.” He reversed out of the parking spot, then paused.

He turned, “And don’t you fuckin’ tell her _shit._ ”

 

* * *

  


“It’s lookin’ good!” Marco nodded and smiled. He walked around the motorcycle. “You done a great job, Barnes.”

Bucky pursed his lips and leaned back against the red chevy behind him. “Close. Tell me you can pick it up from here.”

Marco fucking _laughed_ , “I could, man. But Delaney was sayin’ it’s a cop’s ride. Don’t really wanna be the one to fuck it up, you know?” His grin was bright against his dark skin.

Bucky scowled, “Come on, man.”

“Barnes!”

Both men looked up sharply.

Delaney waved, “Officer Rogers is here. You wanna give ‘im a progress report or what?”

“Ohhh,” Marco said, “Speak of the devil.”

Bucky wanted to punch something. But he acquiesced and went over to the waiting policeman who was patiently observing the rest of the guys working.

“Over here,” Bucky grunted, waving him into the shop.

The man followed and Bucky had to watch him fawn over the changes made to his motorcycle.

“You shipped these in?” Rogers queried, looking over the shiny new metal bits.

“Yup,” Bucky grunted.

Rogers looked up. He must have realized what Bucky’s face really meant. “Am I in the way? I can come back.”

Bucky just couldn’t scowl harder. He couldn’t explain why this was so frustrating. Why was Rogers here? Why was he being annoying and poking around Bucky’s damn job? Couldn’t he just keep … _this_ separate?

Bucky’s stomach churned.

“Naw, it’s okay, officer,” Marco cut in with a friendly grin. “Barnes is just an old man. He hates people. Let me explain what’s happened here, to this beauty of a bike.”

“Uh, okay,” Rogers nodded, and turned away, leaving Bucky to stew.

 

* * *

  


“You just not gonna talk about this?” Natasha said archly, watching Bucky organize his garage.

Talk about what? Rogers? Fuck. No.

“James,” she said. He turned away from his task of stacking the old pallets he’d accrued over time.

“What?” he said, dusting his work gloves against his jeans.

“Strucker?” Natasha said, looking unimpressed.

Bucky almost whined and threw up his hands. “I told her not to fuckin’ tell you. Argh!”

“Well, I shouldn’t be hearing this from other people. You should have told me. What the hell? He’s getting out?”

“Apparently,” Bucky grunted, picking up his fallen rake and miscellaneous garden tools. They were loud and clanked against one another when he pushed them into the dusty far corner. He’d need to get hooks to hang them all.

“Hey,” Natasha appeared by his side. “You okay?”

“I’m fucking fabulous,” Bucky grunted. “I just wish people would leave me alone.” His hands were cold and sweaty all at once. He hated this feeling, this building anxiety in his gut. He usually had a hold on it, but not right now.

“I know we keep getting in the way of your dream of becoming a hermit,” Natasha said blithely, “But unfortunately for you, we all give a damn.”

“Well, don’t,” he grunted, turning his back to her so as to focus on something else. Anything else.

“You think he’s gonna come looking for you?” she asked.

Bucky shrugged, “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“You better damn well care,” she said, voice like ice. “I don’t give two shits about your lack of concern for yourself. It’s idiotic and you know it.”

Bucky spun around, incensed. “Can you fucking _go?_ ” he said. “You’re making it worse.”

“What worse?” she asked. God, how could someone so delicate-looking be so _fucking_ immovable?

“Just–“ he hissed, feeling his fists curl. “Just go. Please.”

She eyed him, leaning against his truck. What was her problem anyway? He was within his rights to want to be left alone. He’d earned that. Why couldn’t she just butt out?

“James…” she murmured, stepping closer. “Is there–“

“Just!” he stepped back, hands up. “For the love of anything. Please.”

Natasha was a hawk pretty much all the time. She’d never really look aside anyway. But just for now, he needed her to.

“Fine,” she said, taking a step back. “but just so you know,” she pointed a finger at him. “America’s not the one who told me.”

 

 

* * *

 

“All done?” Bucky heard Rogers’ voice. It rang clear as a bell over the silence of the shop. Bucky was tidying up his tools. He got up and looked over to the front.

Marco was shaking Rogers’ hand, grinning.

The two men talked while Delaney rang it all up, eager for the cash, of course.

Bucky wiped his hands and closed up the hood he’d been under. The space heater beside him was still blasting, keeping him from freezing his balls off.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s up here,” Marco was saying. “I’ll pull her out while you finish up with the boss.” 

Marco came by and did as he said he would. He wiped down the newly refurbished Harley and whistled.

“Dang, Barnes,” he muttered, then looked up. “Kinda hate to see this baby go.”

Bucky nodded, watching him go. And then Rogers was walking over. He wasn’t in his uniform. Just jeans, boots, his brown leather jacket and a thick plaid scarf.

Bucky wanted to ignore the way his blonde hair was sticking up from the wind outside.

Rogers nodded at him, ever the polite bastard.

“So, she runs fine,” Marco began. “Took her for a test ride, hope that’s okay.”

“Not a problem,” Rogers rumbled, while his eyes slid over his shiny, perfect motorcycle. “You worked magic, Marco. Really. Just, wow.”

“Ah,” Marco chuckled, “It wasn’t all me. Barnes here put down a lot of the heavy work. Got it all set up for when I got back.”

Steve looked up through those dark, long lashes of his. “Oh. Yeah?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, still wiping his tools down. He packed them into the massive toolbox allocated to this lift.

“So, you’re all good then,” Marco smiled. “Want me to help you get her going?”

“Oh, no, thanks,” Rogers murmured. “It’s too icy to ride her anyway. Delaney says you guys have a service on call for home deliveries.”

“Oh, duh,” Marco smacked his own forehead. “Well, if everything’s good, I’ll be headin’ home.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Marco,” and the men shook hands _again._ What was this, eighteen-century England?

Bucky bent over to pick up his hoody which he’d taken off hours ago. He tugged it on over his dirty blue tee. Rogers wasn’t making his way out.

So…they were just gonna stand here all dumb?

“What?” Bucky said gruffly, cutting through the icy atmosphere. He zipped up his hoody.

“Nothing,” Rogers murmured. “You okay?”

Bucky tapped the heater with his boot, knocking it into ‘off’ mode. “Yup.”

When he looked up again, not only was Delaney gone, but Marco was too.

Bucky stared Rogers down. What was the point? 

“Uh,” Rogers pulled out his cellphone. “Delaney said you’d know the number for the after hours hauling.”

Buckly squinted. _Fuckin’ Delaney._ Bucky still had to close up the shop. Being the last one here sucked.

“Sure,” he murmured, and heaved the toolbox over to the worktable at the back of the lift area. He quickly walked around, turning off miscellaneous lights and appliances. Someone always left the damn kettle plugged in and this place had shitty wiring to begin with.

When he reached the front, where the last of the rolling metal doors stood open, Rogers was there, motorcycle on its kickstand, like brand new.

“C’mon, out,” Bucky waved. Rogers wheeled his bike out, making the beast machine look like it weighed nothing.

Bucky grabbed his lunch bag from the ‘kitchen’ table and scooped up his own cellphone and keys he’d left there. Dumb dumb. He really was out of it.

He switched off the main light, set the flimsy alarm system to go, and stepped out into the bitter, icy cold.

He reached up and yanked down the rolling metal door, it’s wheels screeching horribly. He pushed the lock into place. Delaney had the key, so it was good.

He stood up and turned, noticing how misty it was in the darkness. His hoody had hiked itself up his belly, so he tugged it down.

“You always work this late?” Rogers asked, leaning against his bike.

Bucky just eyed him, then the bike.

“You can lift that?” he asked in answer.

Rogers blinked, then stared down at the metal monster. “I might need a little help.”

“All right, c’mon,” Bucky huffed.

“Did you call them?” Rogers asked.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Bucky muttered, knowing full well that Rogers would hear him.

“Uh…” Rogers breathed. Then, “Okay.”

The two of them hefted the Harley onto the back of Bucky’s pickup. He secured it with straps and made sure the heavy duty blanket protected it from any shifting.

Rogers watched all this in silence, until he eventually slid into the passenger seat.

He cleared his throat.

Bucky ignored him and just got the car running.

The drive up and out of the lot was tricky with the ice, but Bucky’s old truck could just handle it.

“Thanks for helping on my bike,” Rogers said abruptly, when they paused at a red light.

Bucky grunted, “I need to get gas.”

“Sure,” Rogers nodded.

The gas station was dead. Bucky wondered if Teddy was working tonight. The kids round here really needed new jobs. He liked to check in most nights.

He got out to fill the tank.

“You know,” Rogers said from inside the truck. 

Bucky peered in the open window.

“I didn’t take my bike to Delaney’s so you could fix it personally,” Rogers said. He chewed his lip. “I mean, obviously it’s an excuse to see you, yeah. Sure. I can be honest about that _now,_ when I’m not pissed at you. But that’s ‘cos I…you know … don’t. See you, I mean.”

Which was true. Bucky wasn’t exactly an _available_ person to anyone. He really was turning into a hermit. He hardly ever caught sight of Rogers, and Bucky never drove his way, down his street. Or, he actively drove the long way round instead. It was too … tempting, or something.

While he watched the gauge numbers roll up, Bucky frowned. Why’d it have to be Rogers anyway? Why’d this _thing_ have to keep messing Bucky up? He thought it was just a coincidence, all those times, or a silly game between them. Like chicken. But…it made Bucky’s stomach wobble when he thought too long on it, like he’d get vertigo if he paid too much attention to his issues with Rogers. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

And it wasn’t possible for him to blame it on Rogers anymore because _hell_ , he’d gone _looking_. The minute you start actively yearning for whatever it was Rogers gave off, it was too late. And Bucky still wasn’t a hundred percent on the details.

“So anyway,” Rogers faded out. The man was now just staring out the windshield, into the darkness. Probably despondent about Bucky’s lack of responses. Because Bucky was just that kind of withholding asshole.

Bucky watched him for a moment, then rolled his eyes. This was so stu–

A sharp _ping_ split the air and Bucky jumped, the back of his hand burning suddenly. “Shit, what the–“ he breathed, trying to not drop the damn gasoline nozzle and also get a look at his hand. Why was there a red gash–?

Another sound, but this time it was a blasting screech across the side of his truck. Bucky jumped back, almost stumbling.

“Jesus!” he gasped, and turned to look to his right. There was a vehicle set back in the bushes, just off the main road. The glow of the gas station just hinted at a license plate and a chrome grille and … someone leaning out the driver’s side window with a–

_Blam!_

Bucky didn’t move fast enough. He felt it this time, once his brain figured it out.

He stumbled to the side, away from the mysterious car and over to the front of his own, needing to get cover.

He heard shouting. Rogers?

Then more loud blasts that rung in his ears. A door slamming. His truck rocked a little. Yelling. 

Bucky grasped at his side, his ribs. His hand came away wet. He stared at it, confused, and there was that burn again, only this time, it was under his hoody. He meant to lean on his truck’s hood, but his hand was wet and he slipped, falling back onto the freezing asphalt.

Shit.

What the hell was happening? His ribs hurt, and his hand. And his t-shirt was hot on one side and felt wet. His hoody was wet. It was so goddamn cold. Why couldn’t he get up?

“Bucky!” Rogers’ loud voice and then face came into focus. “Bucky! Are you hurt? Bucky, listen. Hey, hey.”

A large warm hand was at Bucky’s cheek, tilting his head. Roger stared down at him. The glow from the gas station roof overhead lit him up from behind. Like an angel.

There was more noise, more sounds. footsteps, loud voices.

“Ambulance, go go!” Rogers–no, _Steve_ yelled. Then he looked down at Bucky again.

“Bucky, hey, can you understand me?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where does it hurt?” Rogers looked in charge, calm.

Fuck, Bucky was freezing. He wished he was wearing his proper jacket. This is what happens when you don’t wear appropriate attire.

“Bucky, where does it hurt?” Steve pushed. 

“Hmm,” Bucky winced when he tried to sit up. “Ow.” He moved his right hand over his chest, to the opposite side. More noise. More footsteps. He could hear something…sirens?

“What happened?” Bucky heard, and Steve looked up.

The voices were mixing, confusing Bucky and his chest hurt. His skin was burning. He felt it. His side was on fire.

“Unh,” He breathed, feeling it twinge painfully under his arm. Hands were on his neck. Fingers.

Fingers in his hand. He held on.

“Steve,” he said, wincing. “Steve, I think I got shot.”

Steve blue eyes were back on him. “Hey, yeah, I think so too, buddy. Just hang on, okay? Teddy called the ambulance. I can hear them already.”

“Steve, Steve,” Bucky tried to pull at him, but his hand was stuck, restricted. “There’s someone in the bushes. In a car.”

“Yeah, I saw him, Buck,” Steve leaned down close. “I got him.”

“You did?” Bucky breathed, pain flushing up his side again. “Shit, ow.”

“Oh jeez,” Steve murmured, eyes looking down Bucky.

“They’re coming!” Another voice cried. Who was here?

“Barnes!” and then Clint Barton’s face appeared, like a miracle. Why the fuck–? “Rogers! Is he gonna be–“

“Hey, yelling isn’t gonna help,” Steve hissed. Then he was looking at Bucky again. “Hey Buck, hey. It’s okay. The medics are almost here.”

“Fuck, is that–“ Clint breathed and Bucky wondered what was freaking him out.

Teddy was there, beside Clint. His eyes were wide, scared. “That’s–that’s a lot of bl–“

“It hurts,” Bucky breathed out, wincing.

Steve’s eyes were soft and close, so close. “I know, I know. I’m sorry it hurts. We’ll get you fixed.” Bucky felt the firm grip around his hand, the unwavering strength there. He also felt a wave of pain and he closed his eyes.

The hand in his never let go.

 

* * *

  


“Stop it,” Bucky said crankily.

“But you’re in a cast,” Scott all but wailed, almost dropping the bowl of chips.

“It’s not a cast,” Bucky grumbled, shifting onto his sofa.

Natasha was standing there with a wry look on her face. “It’s not a cast, it’s a sling. Your arm is in a sling because the doctor doesn’t want you moving that arm because, oh, hey, why is that?” she turned to Clint, finger tapping at her lips.

“Because you got shot,” Clint said drily.

“Yeah, so I was just helping,” Scott said, putting the bowl on the coffee table.

Bucky scowled at them all. “I’ve been home exactly one hour and you’re already making me regret letting you help.”

“Hey, it’s better than the hospital,” Clint said.

Which, okay. Yes, it was. Two weeks in a damn hospital bed was enough for Bucky.

“You’re fucking lucky you didn’t have any busted organs,” Natasha said.

“You make it sound like I shot myself,” Bucky groused, slumping deeper into his sofa.

“No, you got shot by that Strucker maniac,” Natasha said, forcefully opening up some kind of blanket she’d brought with her. She threw it across Bucky’s legs and torso. “The maniac we told you to tell us about.”

“And what, exactly, were you going to do about it?” Bucky said.

Natasha’s eyes flashed and she started forcefully tucking Bucky in, like some kind of burrito. This was her affection, wasn’t it? Angry, aggressive mother-henning him into submission.

“Okay, stop arguing,” Clint said. And boy, when Clint got angry, it made people pay attention.

The doorbell rang, echoing round the hallways, all the way to Bucky’s rec room.

Scott disappeared to answer it, while Natasha angrily shoved socks onto Bucky’s exposed feet like he was some kind of uncoordinated penguin.

Clint flicked through the TV channels, looking for something that Bucky could ostensibly stare at until bedtime.

“I told the kids they can visit on the weekend,” Natasha said.

Bucky watched her get back on her feet and stare down at him.

“Yeah, so expect at least one or two teenagers crawling through your basement window sometime tonight,” Clint chuckled.

Natasha swatted his ass. “No. They have to let him rest.”

“I’m resting,” Bucky sighed.

“You got _shot_ ,” she reiterated.

“Really? Ho shit,” Bucky gasped.

Clint smirked from behind Natasha, and settled on the Food Network.

“Hey,” Scott reappeared. “Visitor.”

Bucky twisted and looked up at Steve Rogers.

“Ah, the po-po,” Bucky said.

Steve’s brow quirked and he glanced at Natasha. “Is he high?”

“No,” she huffed, “He’s just an idiot.”

“Ah,” Steve nodded slowly. The he held up a fancy-looking paper bag. “I brought, um, treats.”

“Fuck yes,” Clint lunged.

“No,” Steve said, “for the guy who bled all over my shoes. Not you.”

Clint seemed to pause at those words, then glanced at Bucky.

Bucky knew that he’d lost a lot of blood. This wasn’t surprising. He also knew that he had a cracked rib and a massive row of stitches running along his side, between two ribs. Right where they had to pull his skin together and make it all look like he hadn’t lost a chunk of flesh. It wasn’t the _worst_ injury he’d ever seen, but it apparently had been the bloodiest. And it hurt.

“Gimme,” he said, right arm out. Steve obliged and handed over the bag. Bucky looked inside. “The hell are these?” he asked.

“Macarons,” Steve said.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Oh God, you and your fancy baked goods.”

Bucky pulled out a purple-coloured sandwich…cookie? He held it, then sniffed it.

“Smells like tea,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “I got a mixture. Some are Earl Grey.”

“What?” Clint leaned in. “Really? That’s nuts.”

Steve looked mildly uncomfortable.

“Thanks, officer,” Bucky murmured, peering into the bag of goodies. Then he looked up. Steve was watching him. It was the kind of look he shouldn’t have out in front of Bucky’s friends. It made Bucky feel bad. Maybe he was high.

 

* * *

  


“You doin’ okay?” Clint said, slouching into the sofa beside Bucky.

It was much later and the sun was long gone.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. There was something on TV, but he wasn’t focused on it.

He had the feeling Clint and Natasha were going to rotate babysitting duty into the foreseeable future.

“Really?” Clint murmured.

Bucky shrugged. “Hurts a little.”

“Jeez,” Clint breathed out. He shifted.

They watched whatever was happening on the screen for a while. Bucky’s meds weren’t too strong, but they did take the edge off.

“So,” Clint said into the dimness. “You and Rogers.”

Bucky blinked. He turned his head abruptly. “What?”

Clint was staring at the screen, the lights reflecting across his eyes. “You and Rogers.” he repeated. “I…you guys are…close?”

Bucky felt the blood drain from his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Clint glanced over at him.

“No?” he said.

“No,” Bucky frowned, looking scandalized and trying to figure out why he was reacting like this. Why so ridiculous? “I mean…”

Clint blinked. He adjusted his hearing aid and sat up a bit straighter.

“Okay, well, whatever it is, uh,” he scratched his nose. “I didn’t know.”

Bucky shifted, uncomfortable.

“You know,” Clint went on. “I didn’t know about you two. Or…however you guys are. Uhm,”

Bucky wanted to end this conversation, but he couldn’t figure out how. He was too weak to crawl out the window. Clint was his friend. Clint would never mean to hurt him in any way. Clint was a good guy. Honest. And Bucky was shitty. This was happening whether Bucky liked it or not.

Clint seemed to think for a moment.

“You know, Teddy called America, who called Nat, like, pronto.”

Bucky blinked. Really? He hadn’t heard that. Wasn’t everything over in like, seconds? It had felt like seconds. Until he’d sort of faded out near the end.

“He called 911 and then immediately called her,” Clint said. “‘Cos that kid, he’s– he’s sweet, but terrified of everything.”

That he was.

“And we, well, obviously, we just fuckin’ booked it over there. We were on our way to the movies. Round the corner.”

Bucky swallowed, unsure where this was going.

“And…” Clint breathed out. “We get there, and it’s like, a scene. A real, goddamn scene. You shoulda seen when all the cops showed up. It was nuts. But anyway,” he waved his hand.

Bucky hadn’t asked too much about the aftermath. Honestly, it was a bit much and it seemed to upset everyone else a lot more than him.

“And,” Clint continues, “You were, just lying there. And fuck, I was so glad you were awake. But … I mean, I didn’t realize you and Rogers had something going on.”

Bucky swallowed and tugged at an imaginary thread on his new blanket.

“I didn’t know you even liked guys,” Clint said.

“How…” Bucky exhaled shakily. “How did you know?” Holy crap. That’s as close to an admission as he’d ever get.

Clint twisted and looked him right in the face.

He could probably see the torment right on Bucky’s face. Clint was good at that.

“Dude,” Clint started. “You were lying there, like, soaked in blood. And Rogers was holding you, resting your head on his jacket, or scarf, or something. And he, he was _so_ concerned. He wouldn’t move. And he kept checking your pulse and leaning over you and just…” Clint grunted and waved both hands around. “And I went, ‘oh’.” He pursed his lips, considering. “It was intense. He was looking at you, like, like, you were _it_ , you know?”

Bucky blinked. 

Oh. Shit.

“Plus he totally shot a guy to save your life, or whatever,” Clint sat back into his seat, snuggling in beside Bucky.

Yeah, he did. Strucker was in his own hospital bed, handcuffed and set to be back in prison ASAP. It was nice.

“And you were holding hands,” Clint added like an afterthought. “Cops don’t usually hold hands with gunshot victims. They probably should, now I think about it.”

Bucky rubbed at his eyes.

“Was I not supposed to know?” Clint asked.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. “ _I_ don’t fucking know, man.”

An arm fell over his shoulder. “Hey, pal. It’s cool. It’s fine. Nobody knows.”

“Ugh,” Bucky grunted. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just … weird. I never figured I’d be gay.”

“Well, considering your first girlfriend was my current girlfriend, I can see why you’d think that.”

Bucky smirked. “We were thirteen, Barton,” he murmured.

“And you started off on the best foot,” Clint laughed. “I mean, she chose me, so I win forever. But still.”

“Meh,” Bucky murmured. “What pisses me off is that he’s a cop.”

Clint’s brow rose incrementally. “Not that he’s a man?”

Bucky frowned. “Listen. It’s. I don’t … know.”

“Goddamn,” Clint chuckled. “You’re a grown man in his thirties and sex and relationships are _still_ terrifying.”

“Shut up,” Bucky snapped. “It’s not terrifying. It’s…weird.”

“Man, you are such a hoodrat.”

“I said shut up!”

 

* * *

  


“Hey.”

“Hi,” Bucky said after answering the door.

“How you healing up?” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged, “You wanna come in?”

Steve nodded slowly. “You just get off work?” Bucky asked, nodding at the uniform.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve took his hat off. He placed it on the old side table by the door. “So your stitches should be about absorbed by now, right?” Steve murmured, turning. 

“Pretty much,” Bucky shut and locked his front door. Then he just stood there in his sweatpants and t-shirt and bare feet.

Steve sighed. “I shoulda gone home and changed first.”

Bucky smirked, “You know the eyes on this street. They keep seeing cops at my place.”

“Sorry,” Steve rubbed at his forehead. “I just wanted to catch you before bedtime.”

Bucky shrugged, his simple sling still in place. “It’s good. I’m not sleeping much anyway.”

He turned and waved for Steve to follow. Steve was smart enough to shrug off his jacket and hang it in the hall closet because Bucky had the furnace running at full.

The rec room looked like a mountain of blankets and pillows with the only light coming from the TV.

“You been in here the whole time?” Steve murmured.

Bucky shrugged, “Eh. It’s easier. Closer to the kitchen.”

Steve sat down on the large sofa. Bucky was already slouching down into what was obviously his usual spot.

“So, Strucker’s arraignment went fine. With my testimony and the gas station cameras, it was done and dusted.”

“Fuckin’ good,” Bucky grunted, pulling his left foot up onto the sofa cushion.

Steve watched him. “He’s the guy, isn’t he?”

Bucky blinked.

Steve waved a hand, “You know. The one from High School. The rumor that got you sent to juvie.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, “Yeah. Wait, what rumour?”

“Everyone said you beat a tourist to death with a tire iron.”

Bucky snorted loudly. “Jesus, really? Firstly, it was a baseball bat. Secondly, he clearly didn’t die.”

Steve pursed his lips.

“He just talked fancy enough that it made it sound like I was the one fucking up,” Bucky murmured. “You get a hoodrat kid with a baseball bat coming up against a smart city slicker, and boom. Kid gets it for aggravated assault.”

“And juvie,” Steve murmured.

“Yup,” Bucky sighed. 

Steve scratched at his knee absently. “You did it ‘cos he was targeting young girls, didn’t you? I read up on his actual conviction years later.”

Bucky scowled, “Fucker was leering at Natasha. Didn’t take no for an answer. Then he tried it on Becca too.”

Steve watched the play of emotions on Bucky’s face.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve murmured. “You shoulda been heard, back then.”

“Well, what can a kid do when law enforcement’s a sack of crap?”

Steve nodded slowly. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“He’s going away for life now.”

Bucky sighed. “Good.”

“Were you scared? When you got shot?” Steve asked.

Bucky glanced over at him. “Huh? Not really. Honestly? I couldn’t quite figure out what was happening.”

“Ah,” Steve nodded. “I can see that.”

Bucky wanted to ask if Steve was scared, but he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer as much.

“But you’re healing okay?” Steve said.

Bucky nodded slowly, not looking away from those searching eyes.

“You wanna see, doc?” he murmured.

Steve blinked just as Bucky started to shimmy out of his t-shirt.

He pulled it over his head with a wince, sling already forgotten. “I still gotta be careful. Can’t lift shit and I gotta sleep on my other side. But, yeah. Look.”

Bucky twisted and carefully lifted his left arm. Steve moved closer and squinted in the dim light. A long, dark, angry scar slashed it’s way between two ribs, angling up a bit. The skin was taut and pale around it, but obviously knitting itself back together beautifully. Bucky jumped when Steve’s ran a finger up the skin just below the scar.

“Jeez,” Steve breathed, eyes wide. “That cut into muscle.”

“You betcha,” Bucky chuckled.

Steve looked at him, fingers still touching. “You sure you’re not doing bad? Not feeling worse?”

Bucky smiled, just a small one. “I’m good. I’m being treated like a baby bird. Natasha won’t let me even leave the house in case a snowflakefalls on me and kills me.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah? Good.”

Bucky shifted when Steve’s palms pressed to Bucky’s skin. It tickled and it was warm.

He cleared his throat. “I’m–“ he grunted. “I’m almost good as new.”

He knew it for the hint it was meant to be, but would Steve?

Steve was staring at the scar.

Then he rubbed his hand again, gently over Bucky’s side, and back to the front.

He glanced at Bucky, whose eyelids were starting to feel heavy, and his lungs felt really thick in his chest.

A thumb skimmed Bucky’s nipple and he breathed in sharply.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re healing. Jeez,” Steve pulled away. “Oh, god. I can’t keep it together, not even for five minutes.”

Like that _wasn’t_ a great compliment.

“C’mere,” Bucky tugged at his elbow. And Steve’s eyes went wide just as Bucky tugged him in, close enough for their lips to meet.

“Mm?” Steve mumbled.

“Mmm,” Bucky answered, then pulled back with glazed eyes. “Tell me you didn’t just come over to see how I am?”

Steve blinked and licked his lips. “Uh, what else would I want to be doing?”

“You _could_ be treating me nice, officer,” Bucky rumbled.

“Nice?” Steve said slowly, hand again on Bucky’s skin. “But you’re injured.”

“My dick still works fine,” Bucky smirked, feeling a surge of audacity.

Steve flushed pink. “Oh. Yeah?”

“Yup,” Bucky murmured, and leaned his head back onto the sofa. “I wouldn’t say no to a blowjob.”

Steve’s brows rose, “I see.” And sure, he sounded skeptical, but Bucky could see how he kept licking his lips, how he was _thinking_ about it. “I didn’t come over here to sex you up, Barnes.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Bucky smirked, and shifted his hips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve leaned in for a kiss, which Bucky obliged him with. Then there was a big hand on Bucky’s clothed dick and he gasped a little. Fuck, he hadn’t gotten any in ages. His dick immediately perked up.

Steve pressed his palm down and squeezed, and rubbed, all while making out with Bucky.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed after a minute. He glanced down at where his hand rubbed Bucky. The thick cock there was definitely nothing to miss.

He pulled at Bucky’s sweatpants, releasing Bucky’s dick. He breathed in slow and Bucky almost preened.

No one looked at his dick the way Rogers did. The way _Steve_ did. Steve’s mouth practically started watering every time. It was heady.

“Yes?” Steve asked with both brows rising.

Bucky nodded fervently.

And, _oh boy_ , Steve obliged.

He shifted down and off the seat, squeezing himself between the sofa and coffee table. Shit, he was still in his uniform.

“Off, off,” Bucky nudged at Steve's shoulder with his foot. “Can’t be wearing that.”

“Why?” Steve asked with a smile.

“‘Cos I don’t wanna start poppin’ boners if I see you on the street, asshole.”

Steve smirked but did as he was asked. He undid his shirt, revealing the black tank top underneath. He yanked at his belt and undid his stupid boots. He stood up slowly and did something like a fuckin’ striptease that had Bucky practically gagging for it. Ah hell, he was definitely gonna be jacking off to this in the future.

And then Steve was standing in just his tight little grey boxer briefs that hugged that dick of his… _shit_.

Bucky held back on whatever profanity he’d be letting loose. He watched Steve get back down on his knees, opening Bucky’s legs up again.

His cock had been leaking and Steve seemed very interested, leaning over to lick at the head.

“Jesus,” Bucky grunted. 

“Mm?” Steve hummed and sucked at the tip. “Mm, you taste good, Buck.”

“Shut–“ Bucky huffed when Steve suckled at him, his right hand stroking Bucky up and down, real slow. “Ugh. Up.”

Steve was good at giving head. Probably because he’d had practice before Bucky came along. He would suck all nice and wet, then jerk Bucky off into his mouth, while his tongue swirled and touched.

Then, like now, Steve would bend in, hands on a hip each, and sink his mouth down, over Bucky’s cock, sucking him in good and proper.

“Oh God,” Bucky gasped, wincing at the pleasure as he watched Steve slide his mouth down, down, and up again with just the right amount of pressure, holding Bucky tight between his lips.

He would vary the pace. Faster, then slower, until Bucky was a gasping mess.

His dick was twitching and hot and heavy.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, hips twitching.  “I’m close.”

And the fucker _hummed_ , sending vibrations _through_ Bucky and up his spine. Bucky shifted, then winced at a twinge in his side.

“Ow, shit,” he breathed. Steve immediately pulled back. “No,” Bucky said. “Hey.” He tried to tug at Steve, but to no avail.

Steve licked his lips, “Did I hurt you? Oh god, you’re still injured. I shouldn’t even be–“

“ _Rogers,_ ” Bucky growled through his teeth, “If you don’t get me off in some way, I’m gonna kill you, strangle you to death. I swear.”

Steve frowned, “But your stitches.”

Bucky stared skyward. “Seriously?”

Steve got up and Bucky got the most amazing view of his very hard dick all bunched up in his underwear. Well, that wasn’t helping.

Bucky pretty much accepted now that hard dicks were definitely a turn-on.

“Compromise,” Steve murmured, leaning over Bucky. “Bed.”

Bucky scowled, “But it’s upstairs. And my dick is here. And your mouth is, like, _right there._ ” He even pointed.

Steve smiled that gentle smile of his.

“It’d be better for you. Plus, you can pass out afterwards.”

Like passing out here wasn’t an option?

Bucky wasn’t convinced and neither was his dick.

“I’ll carry you,” Steve smirked.

“I’ll murder you if you try,” Bucky snorted.

Steve chuckled and licked at his swollen pink lips. “See, Buck, if you’re upstairs … on a bed … on your back…”

Bucky frowned harder.

“I could very easily ride you too,” Steve murmured. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

Bucky’s blood pressure rose and he felt his face and neck flush at the thought. It was probably obvious, too. But he didn’t want to move…but Steve on his dick…

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Bucky said. “But you ain’t carrying me, you ass.”

 

* * *

  


Bucky was never going to recover from this.

He was never going to have a normal heart rate, or a normal sex drive ever again.

Because Steve was…

Steve was _riding_ him. He was swirling his hips slowly, Bucky’s dick deep inside him, hard as fuck, and he looked _amazing._ His beautiful tits were out, his big hands were on the bed either side of Bucky, and his _face_. 

“Christ,” Bucky breathed, feeling the heat coming off the both of them.

His dick was pulsing with his heart beat. Steve just kept at it, lifting himself up and sliding back down, squeezing and _squeezing_ Bucky.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve groaned, his hair a little damp against his forehead. He looked so beautiful, so _good_.

Bucky’s hands were on those massive thighs, rubbing and caressing, while his mouth was just on its own mission.

“Yeah, baby, come on,” he said, voice rough. “fuckin’ _yes_.”

Bucky was fully aware he called Steve _baby_ or _sweetheart_. He just couldn’t control it. His mouth had a mind of its own. The first time, he’d wanted to curl up and die, but now, well, he was resigned to the fact that Steve Rogers brought it out of him.

“Ungh, Bucky,” Steve mumbled, obviously pleasuring himself on Bucky’s dick. His cock was hard and shifted with his movements, drawing Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky couldn’t pump up into Steve, due to his injury, but man did he want to.

Instead, Steve was hell-bent on pleasuring him, working him over, slamming down _hard_ every now and then and just making Bucky melt into his bedsheets.

“God, I miss this,” Steve breathed, swivelling his hips. “I miss it all the time. Your big dick up inside me, fucking me.”

Bucky shuddered, fingers scratching at Steve’s thighs. The spot where they were connected was wet with lube and Steve’s precome. “Steve…”

It was messy and wonderful.

“Yeah, Buck, come on,” and Steve slammed himself down over and over again, clearly getting the angle right, because Bucky could see the man twitch whenever Bucky’s dick rubbed against his prostate. Steve said once that Bucky’s dick was the perfect size and shape for hitting Steve perfectly. Bucky didn’t doubt it.

He slid one hand free and grasped at Steve’s dick. “Come on, baby,” he licked his lips and flexed. Steve’s eyes caught on his pectorals, his muscles. Bucky knew he was built pretty good, and Steve’s admiration of it only made him smirk. “Let’s go.” And Bucky started jerking Steve off while he still squirmed around on his dick.

“Bucky, Bucky!” Steve whimpered, caught between two points of pleasure.

Bucky’s hand was wet and slippery, jacking Steve off steadily. “Here we go,” he purred. “Come on.”

Steve’s face was pink and sweaty and his nipples were perky and his dick twitched in Bucky’s hand.

“Unhhh,” Steve shuddered, “Bucky…” and his eyes closed, come spilling over Bucky’s hand and onto his belly. Steve squeezed down _hard_ and Bucky almost winced.

Jesus, this man was stunning. He was everything. He was addictive and sweet and annoying and _perfect._

Bucky was gone. He knew it. Fuck this stupid idiot for messing him up.

Steve collapsed forward, but caught himself before crushing Bucky, ever considerate.

He shakily breathed in and out. “You bastard,” he huffed. “I wanted to make _you_ come.”

Bucky smelled Steve’s hair, fresh and clean even after a whole day of work.

He had some pithy retort, but Steve was already shifting, moving.

He sat up, looked down at the all the mess, and promptly slipped Bucky free. Bucky’s dick was still hard and the condom shone with lube. They were getting better at remembering the condom, at least.

Steve pulled at it, handling Bucky none to gently, and the condom slid off with a bit of mess. He tied it up and leaned over to drop it in Bucky’s trashcan under the beside table.

Then, with wide eyes, Bucky watched the other man shimmy down, ass in the air, and suck Bucky into his mouth like it was nothing.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Bucky cried out, muscles clenching at the tight, wet heat. “Steve! Oh, shit, I’m gonna–wait–”

Steve had no mercy. He sucked Bucky in quick and fast and massaged his balls and squeezed at his dick until it was all over. Bucky’s abs clenched and he shuddered, watching his dick pump its release into Steve’s mouth, while the man just kept suckling.

“Ohhh–,” Bucky shivered all over, “Oh _fuck_. _Steve…_ ”

He felt all shivery and warm and tingly at once. His hips shifted and his knees bent. This was amazing. Steve was amazing. why didn’t they do this every goddamn day?

Steve did eventually pull off, and wipe at his mouth, before clambering over like a giant puppy. He flopped onto the bed beside Bucky, careful not to jostle him.

“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Mmm,” Bucky rumbled and turned to kiss him, all of him. His tongue met Steve’s and they lazily necked for a while, Bucky craving the closeness. His leg pulled Steve in closer until they were pressed together, chest to knees.

“You are…” Bucky breathed. “Fuck.”

Steve smiled against his lips. “I know.”

Bucky punched him lightly.

Steve just chuckled and leaned in for more kisses.

 

* * *

  


“So…” America said.

Bucky was wrapping up the plastic sheeting left over in his front room.

She cleared her throat.

Bucky looked up. “What?”

“I didn’t know you liked boys.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open.

“It’s cool, it’s cool, bro,” America said with an air of nonchalance. She was collecting the many paintbrushes left scattered all over the house and organizing them by size. “Yeah, you’re a big scary dude and you would fuck a bitch up for saying this. But we know that ain’t true. You’re a doll. I just never thought you did. You know? Like boys? Man, you are good, or repressed, or whatever Dr Phil says.” She looked at him slyly.

“Men,” Bucky grumbled. “Not boys.”

“Of course,” America nodded gleefully, knowing she’d broken through. 

Bucky watched her warily while he taped up the mess of plastic in his arms.

“Oh my God,” he sighed, “What’s on your mind, you annoying little gremlin?”

America grinned. “Okay, _so,_ Kate noticed officer Rogers came to visit a few weeks back.”

Shit. Bucky frowned harder.

“And then Billy said he saw him leaving, like, the next _morning_. And we were all like, ‘Oh no, he killed Bucky and buried the body out back. Cops are the worst’. Right?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and tried desperately not to blush.

“And then we were all, ‘Bucky’s tough as shit. He’s the toughest motherfucker this side of the state line. Ain’t nobody gonna fuck with him.’”

“Oh my God,” Bucky sighed, resigned.

“So we figure you’d totally kill Rogers before he killed you.”

“What is all this murder?” Bucky asked. “You kids, I swear.”

America held up a finger, “Exactly. So what’s the other possibility? You guys are pals? He’s concerned? So he stays over?”

Bucky threw the plastic ball into the corner. “Get to the point.”

She grinned to wide it was almost contagious. “We saw him come round again a few times. Not that we were hiding in the bushes…”

Bucky had a feeling he’d need to get privacy curtains sometime soon.

“You guys are frenemies!”

He blanched, “Goddamn where do you learn this shit?”

“TV,” America said blithely, “ruining the kids of the world. Anyhow…”

Bucky wanted this conversation to die in a fire.

“So…” she wheedled, “No? Is…is he your boyfriend?”

Bucky blushed then, like a furnace was lit up under his skin. _Jesus Christ on a cracker._

Her eyes widened, “Oh. My. God. _He is!”_

“Please, go now,” Bucky grumped, turning away. “You don’t have to come back. In fact, please don’t. You are relieved of duty.”

“Awwww,” she cooed loudly. “You’re _embarrassed_. That’s too fuckin’ cute, man.”

“America,” he turned back to her, hands on hips. “Stop it.” But his face was red, he knew it.

She held up her hands, “Okay, done. Sure.”

He eyed her warily. Then he rolled his eyes. “Okay, what? One more question–“

“So what’s it like dating a cop? I mean, weird, right? Though he’s not the worst one on the block. Do you like Wilson too? He’s super cute. Not _my_ type, obviously. Is it a fetish thing? Do you like handcuffs? Actually, nevermind, none of my business. My abuela taught me that I shouldn’t be askin’ shit that ain’t my business. Normally. But, I mean, _really,_ you’re both kinda idiots and you know what  _I think–“_

Bucky covered his face and groaned while America droned on some more.

Sometimes, he really wished people didn’t care about him and his life _at all._

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky's POV! Yay!
> 
> I loved writing this because Bucky plays it so cool and dead inside, but really, he's a s'more: kinda crunchy outer cookie filled with melty marshmallow goo and sweet chocolate.
> 
> Yaaaaa. Thank you for reading and any feedback and kudos are always loved and appreciated. Also, if there's spelling/grammar issues...sigh. :-D


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